Nowhere
by Number One Fan of Journey
Summary: Romano was a runner, not a fighter. He wasn't strong; he wasn't brave. But when fighting became the only option, he had no choice but to change. He should have known it wouldn't last. Zombie apocalypse AU, oneshot.


Author's Note: This was originally intended to be a tie-in with my other story (posted on this site), _The Long and Winding Road_, but it's a bit less of an AU than that. At any rate, enjoy, and check out the other story if you want something a little longer.

* * *

The blasted old door would not lock.

Swearing, Romano slammed into the wood with his shoulder blades, shoving his weight onto the door as it thumped behind him. The door bolt slid in and out as the attackers continued the onslaught, and the brunette struggled to keep pressing back.

"Get over here and _help_, you idiot!" he grunted, glaring at the other young man in the room.

Veneziano scrambled over, and, while he didn't stop shaking, he did help push the door closed. Romano tried the deadbolt again, but it was still hopelessly jammed. Swearing again, he stopped fiddling with the thing and just focused on leaning back.

There had to be a way to escape. The room didn't have any windows—only Veneziano's torch illuminated the place at all—and, judging from the sheet-covered hanging frames and chairs, this was probably just a storage room. No reason to have more than one door for it. Romano had his brother check, anyway, but the pressure behind this door didn't let up. The wood panel beat the crap out of his back before Veneziano came back beside him.

"Only one other door, and it's a little-bitty closet," he whimpered, stifling a yelp as the door lurched again.

Romano swore heatedly, thunking his head back against the door. Nowhere left to run. He couldn't describe how much he hated that. Not just now, but whenever it happened in this stupid apocalypse. He was born to run. He was good at it. Comfortable with it. Veneziano, too. But when there was no escape route, they had to somehow stand and fight.

It hadn't always been that way. Even after the zombies started multiplying, after the relaxed meals and siestas had gone out the window, it wasn't so bad. There may not have always been somewhere to run, but there were others to hide behind. For him, Spain; for Veneziano, Germany. Spain was gone first, in his sleep. Romano didn't have enough pride to do anything but snivel and hide behind Germany after that.

Thinking of then made Romano ache more than the door ramming into the back of him did. It still didn't make any sense that Spain was dead. Being asleep at the time himself, Romano had never seen him like the mob that was after them now. Germany had managed to take care of the new zombie before he could hurt any of the rest of them. Good thing, since Romano could never have pulled the trigger. Even if Spain's face had been falling apart as much as his mind. Without Ludwig, they would have all been gone.

At this point Romano wondered if that was really so bad. Ludwig didn't last much longer having to protect twice as many incompetent Italians, and the twins today were barely living. Hungry, dirty, sleepless, but unable to stop. Nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide. Nothing left but fighting, every moment of every day.

The door gave a great lurch behind Romano, and suddenly he had stumbled off his feet. Veneziano clung to the wood wide-eyed, but the door was starting to separate further and further. A rotten hand got through. An arm. A head. Gasping for breath, Romano charged to snap the door back into its proper place, but there were too many obstructions. Swearing, he stood his ground for a second, feeling his sweat soak into the wood, before he turned to his brother.

"Hold it for another second, then get out of the way," he muttered, taking a step forward.

Swallowing, Veneziano nodded, straining to push back on the door a little longer. With a series of clicks, Romano got his overused gun ready and aimed at the first grotesque head that had come through.

"Move!"

Veneziano leapt away from the door, which swung open with a crash barely audible under the gunfire. He wasn't quite out of the way of a few blood splatters, but zombies were going down one after another. The whole room reeked of gunpowder by the time Romano stopped for breath. He had to ask Veneziano for light to see the pile of corpses he'd made. Nothing half-dead seemed to be coming anymore.

Both of the panting twins withdrew to a side of the room.

"You okay?" Romano started.

Shakily wiping a few flecks of blood off his arm, Veneziano nodded. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He wondered how convincing the words were when his vision was already being clouded by tears. Usually he cried for a reason, but not so much these days. That, or everything was worthy of tears. Either way, he had to keep knocking it off so he could see well enough to shoot. He really wasn't sure how. He just had to, so he did. He had to be strong—or at least act strong—so he did.

Sometimes he wished he was the younger brother, just so he could be the one to keep hiding. None of this would be easy, still. Spain would still be dead. Who-knew-how-many others would still be dead. There would still be running, starving, panicking. But if he could just run and hide, he could at least still feel something like himself. Now, he wasn't even sure who he was. Hardly much better than the zombies, he thought. Just as blind to most everything outside of survival.

But that was how it was. He couldn't really bear to put this weight on Veneziano, anyway. If neither of them could really stand it, Romano thought he might as well be the one to step up. Dumb little brother could barely fire a gun, anyway.

But if someone else could have stayed to protect them... Romano could barely think of how great that could be. Even if Spain had to go, even if Prussia had to take Germany down with him, if just _someone _could have stayed to help them, someone who didn't always run..._  
_

"Romano!" Romano's arm was seized, and he toppled to the left before he was even sure Veneziano was doing it. A zombie roar at his right helped him figure out what was happening. While his vision was still blurred with tears, he managed to hit the creature by the second bullet in the magazine. Shakily lowering the gun, he inhaled with a hitch before screaming and bursting into fresh tears.

At least there was a reason this time.

"Romano?" Veneziano, sniffling, wrapped his arms round his brother's shoulders. "Are you okay?"

It took the younger brother a minute before he saw the blood dripping down Romano's arm. He quailed, turning the torch to see more clearly, but Romano stumbled to his feet before Veneziano could look at the wound.

"Let me—" Veneziano swallowed, going through some of the bedsheets in the room for something not so dusty—"how much do you need? Romano?"

"Don't bother with any." Romano's voice was so flat he didn't even recognize it.

Veneziano froze, looking over his shoulder. He could only make out the faint gleam of his brother's eyes without the light pointed towards him.

"Romano?"

"For now." With that, he shakily tried to make sure everything was in order as far as his gun went, but he was crying too hard to see a thing.

Veneziano lowered his hands, letting go of the sheets and grabbing the torch. Pointing it back in Romano's direction, he scuttled over. "Let me see, okay?" Tears were gushing, but he struggled to keep his words understandable. "Maybe there's something—There has to be something—"

"Don't touch it!" Romano snapped his bleeding arm away, holding it in the air like a flag of surrender. "The last thing I want is for you..."

Wobbily getting to his feet, Veneziano stayed silent, reaching again for Romano's right arm.

"Veneziano...!" Forced to his feet as well, Romano kept his arm held out and checked the doorway for any other attackers. None were coming. At least, not from outside the room.

The wound had already gone numb, the skin at its edges peeling and grey. His right fingers were already stiff, but that was all so far. At least, specifically. Something else felt wrong. Nothing in particular. Everything. Maybe the room seemed colder, but then again, it didn't. Maybe the lights, maybe the drafts... Maybe just him...

Romano was just coherent enough to notice Veneziano trying to wrap up his arm, anyway. With a growl, Romano drove an elbow into his brother's chest, sending him to the ground. Feet already not cooperating, he shuffled to the far wall. Veneziano was crying too hard to get back up. At this rate, there would be two zombies in the room in no time.

Romano wasn't fond of that idea. Himself turning, of course, was crap. Lose his mind, then die. Certainly something to look forward to. But why cry now? He had been bitten. He would turn into one of them. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

After fighting so hard, though... Not just for him, but for Veneziano. And since his little brother was still curled up crying hysterically and the door fairly well-blocked, he'd be easy prey once a zombie was in the room. So after all the fighting, all the surviving, they'd both go down. Just like Prussia took Germany. Once Romano turned, he wouldn't be able to save his brother no matter how hard he tried. No way to avoid losing himself, either. Nowhere else to run.

But was there another route?

Feeling like he'd downed a few too many glasses of wine, Romano pulled his functioning arm up, gun in hand. He—Romano, at least—would be dead in a matter of moments, anyway. Somehow the idea barely frightened him. _That_ frightened him a bit.

Worse was the idea of him biting Veneziano. After so long, putting his grieving mind through so much to protect his little brother, he wasn't about to let it all be in vain. He couldn't guarantee what would happen after he was gone. Honestly, he couldn't see Veneziano surviving another five months on his own. But he could give him this much.

He felt like giving a momentous goodbye speech, but he could barely hold on to his own reasoning, to his own fingers.

"I love you, brother," he managed, trying his best not to slur. "Keep... going."

Veneziano finally looked up, a look of pure horror sweeping across his face as he took in the scene in front of him. With a cry, he lunged for the gun, but Romano aimed at his own brainstem and fired. The magazine emptied, launching him into a macabre dance of convulsions before his corpse hit the wall and slid down.

Veneziano collapsed, sobbing too hard to think, but not a drop of his brother's infected blood touched him.


End file.
